


let's kiss and then take off our clothes

by fliptomybside



Series: you can hear it in the silence [2]
Category: Dunkirk (2017) RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 12:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12013146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fliptomybside/pseuds/fliptomybside
Summary: What the title says.





	let's kiss and then take off our clothes

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Have some more uni!fionnry. This takes place before [my love for you looks different](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11970453), so you can read that or not. Co-written by [Em](http://fullstopmgnt.tumblr.com), speed beta-ed by [Mary](http://yslverse.tumblr.com) so all remaining mistakes are mine, title from Lorde's Perfect Places, please don't let the real people that this is about see it, etc. etc.

Fionn’s a bit nervous, if he’s being honest with himself. It’s not that he’s never been to Harry’s flat before, because he has. It’s just that Harry’s like, properly famous, and he’s friends with famous people, like Nick Grimshaw and Annie Mac, and Fionn’s not used to keeping that kind of company. Sure, he’s adjusted to Harry, but it’s been a month, and Harry’s--different. He carries the fame like it’s nothing, and Fionn mostly forgets the fact that Harry’s on the cover of every tabloid in the Tesco he and Tom frequent. 

He brushes his teeth vigorously enough that his gums start to sting, and stares himself down in the mirror. He should probably nix the glasses, but they’re almost like a security blanket at this point. Something he can hide behind. He spits in the sink and rinses his mouth out, and hesitates for a second before pulling the bottle of vodka out from under the sink. 

It’s mostly empty at this point, maybe a shot left, and Fionn mentally curses Tom for not replacing it, downing the last of it straight from the bottle. He leaves it pointedly on the sink.

The flat’s quiet when he leaves, tugging anxiously at his sweater while he walks to the tube. Harry’d wanted to send a car, but Fionn insisted that he didn’t need that. Harry’s great, and they get on really well, but Fionn can’t quite get on board with the parts of Harry’s life that are as ludicrous as sending Fionn a private car to pick him up for a house party. 

The vodka settles in his veins on the ride to Harry’s, and Fionn clings to it, tries to fight down the nerves that are making his stomach churn. The trip usually feels endless, Fionn anxious for the sanctuary of Harry’s flat, but it passes quickly this time, and Fionn drags his feet to Harry’s front door.

It swings open before he can knock, and he’ll never not be creeped out by Harry’s camera system, he thinks, right before Harry pulls him in, pressing a kiss to his lips before he’s even all the way inside. 

Fionn hates to admit it, but it calms his nerves. This is familiar. Safe. The soft press of Harry’s lips followed by the brush of his tongue and the way he digs his fingers into Fionn’s hips. Fionn doesn’t let him pull back right away, slides his hand around the back of Harry’s neck when he goes to take a step back and bites down on his bottom lip, hard enough that Harry stutters out a breath and grips Fionn’s hips even tighter. It’s easy to fall into this, Fionn thinks, especially when it’s never quite enough, Harry always stopping them. Sucking Fionn off or rutting up against him instead of fucking him. Fionn’s not got a long list of relationships behind him, but he’s never dated someone for as long as he’s been seeing Harry without fucking them.

“Hiii,” Harry mumbles against Fionn’s lips, and Fionn has to swallow a whine when Harry takes a full step back and separates their mouths. 

“Hey,” Fionn croaks, rubbing at his lips. He can feel how warm they are and he already misses the press of Harry’s body against his, can feel the trickle of anxiety returning.  
“‘M glad you’re here,” Harry says, reaching down to grab Fionn’s hand.

Fionn ignores the way his stomach swoops when Harry intertwines their fingers. He squeezes Harry’s hand and smiles, hopes it’s answer enough, because the last thing he wants is to word vomit all over Harry about how nervous he is. 

“C’mon,” he says, “don’t be nervous, everyone loves you.”

Fionn swallows hard and lets himself be led.

-

Harry eventually drifts away from him, playing the part of the perfect host effortlessly, like he does most things. Fionn hugs the wall by the kitchen. It’s a safe vantage point. People are floating in and out, and he can smile and wave hello at them so he doesn’t seem too antisocial. 

Harry’s deep in conversation with Nick and a girl with hot pink hair when Fionn downs the rest of his whiskey and heads into the kitchen to rinse out his glass. As much as he wants another, he’s had enough to drink, doesn’t trust himself to keep his hands to himself if he progresses past the pleasant buzz he’s got going now. 

Fionn doesn’t spot Harry right away when he re-enters the living room, but Nick’s lingering in the doorway, looking at Fionn with a slight smirk on his face.

“Hey,” Fionn says awkwardly, stuffing his hands in his front pockets so he doesn’t pick at his cuticles. 

“Don’t look so glum, you’re all he’s been talking about tonight.”

Nick smiles at him, big and toothy, and Fionn thinks it’s meant to be comforting, but it doesn’t quite quell the uncomfortable swirling in his stomach. 

“Not sure if that’s a good thing, but all right,” Fionn says, tipping back so he’s leaning against the wall again. 

The party hasn’t even begun to dissipate, Harry’s living room still full of people Fionn knows but doesn’t know, and maybe Fionn does need another drink.

Nick’s rolling his eyes when Fionn lets himself glance over at him. 

“He talks about you like you’re the second coming, mate.”

Nick claps him on the shoulder, friendly but hard enough that it makes Fionn feel off balance. Before he can open his mouth, Nick is swallowed up by the crowd, leaving Fionn alone with his thoughts again.

He loses track of how long he stands there, just watching. Occasionally checking his phone for texts from Tom, and emails from professors. He’s engrossed in a game of Words with Friends when Harry comes back, drapes himself over Fionn’s front and crushes Fionn’s phone to his chest. 

“Sorry,” Harry says into his neck, “‘m yours again.”

Fionn wriggles his arms out from between their bodies and manages to tuck his phone in his back pocket before Harry’s lips are on his and he’s trapped between Harry’s body and the wall. 

Everything narrows to the insistent press of Harry’s mouth, and Fionn’s not drunk, just pleasantly warm inside, but maybe that’s what makes him slide his arms around Harry’s waist and slip his hands underneath the hem of Harry’s obnoxiously expensive button down shirt. He sucks Harry’s lower lip into his mouth and feels Harry slump against him. His glasses start to fog up, both of them breathing hard, but Fionn doesn’t let Harry pull back, just chases his lips when he starts to move away, and kisses his way across Harry’s cheek and along the sharp line of his jaw, nipping at the thin skin of Harry’s neck. 

Harry’s hands are at his hips again, and Fionn can’t stop scratching at the warm skin of Harry’s lower back, flattening his palms out to press their hips closer together. Fionn’s well on his way to hard, has been on the edge of it since Harry kissed him hello, frankly. He can feel that Harry is, too, though, and Fionn doesn’t want to let any of this go. They’re far off enough from the rest of the party that it’s not too much, but Fionn still feels a thrill in the pit of his stomach at the thought that anyone could look over at them and see how Harry’s got him pressed up against the wall, like he can’t bear the thought of any space between them. 

Fionn feels like he’s about to combust, because it’s been a month and Fionn likes making out and clumsy hand jobs as much as the next person, but it’s hard to walk away with just that when it’s Harry, and he’s within reach, giving Fionn something but not quite enough. 

“C’mon,” he whispers in Harry’s ear, biting at his earlobe and pushing his hips against Harry’s. 

Harry goes easily when Fionn tugs him in the direction of Harry’s bedroom, pressing himself along Fionn’s back as they make their way down the hall. It takes longer than Fionn really wants it to, but he also can’t make himself pull away from Harry when he spins Fionn around to kiss him again, licking into his mouth and swallowing up the noises Fionn’s making like he can’t wait another second to get his hands on Fionn. 

“Fionn,” Harry groans the second Fionn shuts Harry’s bedroom door behind him.

Fionn can see how hard he is, the obscene outline of his cock in his jeans, and he wants. He can’t ever remember it feeling like this, desperate and simmering just underneath his skin. 

Fionn strips off his t-shirt and then starts working on the buttons of Harry’s, making it halfway before it’s too much and walks backwards, tugging Harry with him by the belt loops, and lets himself fall back when his legs hit the bed. 

Being in bed with Harry always feels like a revelation, even if it never goes as far as Fionn wants it to. Harry’s thorough and deliberate and Fionn arches his hips up into Harry’s, doesn’t even try to stop the moans from tumbling out of his mouth before there’s a crash from down the hall that makes Harry still above him. 

“No,” he says, because he knows Harry, knows he’s going to go out there like a good host and clean up whatever mess has been made, and Fionn’ll be left hard in Harry’s fuck-off huge bed.

“Sorry, fuck,” Harry says, and Fionn’s actually going to fucking explode.

He can’t stop looking at Harry’s lips, red and swollen enough that it looks borderline painful, and the hard line of his cock in his jeans. Fionn palms himself and groans, keens up into his own touch, even though it’s a poor substitute for Harry’s. 

“Sorry,” Harry says again, voice low and rough, and when Fionn looks at him again he’s got his hand pressed against his dick.

Fionn hates his life. Hates it, he thinks as Harry heads out, not even bothering to do up the buttons of his shirt before he heads out, closing the door behind him with a soft click and leaving Fionn with his hard on. 

“Fuck,” he says to Harry’s ceiling.

Harry has enough money to fix whatever’s just crashed and broken a hundred times over, and his friends are adults, and Fionn has needs, so he doesn’t even hesitate to pop the button on his jeans and get his hand on his dick. 

It doesn’t take long, laying in Harry’s bed, Fionn’s whole body lit up and on edge. Everything smells like Harry, and he can’t even be bothered to tease himself, just jerks himself off fast and hard. It isn’t more than a minute before he’s coming all over his stomach.

Fionn can hear the blood pounding in his head. He can’t even make himself take his hand off his dick, still half hard and sensitive. He’s a little embarrassed, but the rest of him just wants Harry to know what he’s just done. What Harry’s missed out on. 

He cleans himself up in Harry’s bathroom, pulls his shirt back on and tucks himself back into his jeans. It’s bigger than Fionn’s entire flat, but all he can focus on is his reflection in the mirror. He looks fucked out and satisfied, even if he doesn’t feel it, and what he just did starts to sink in. Wanking off in Harry Styles’ bed because he was too hard to be seen in public really drives home how fantastically sideways his life has gone. It gives him pause sometimes, even though it’s been a month.

Fionn turns the hot water on and forces his hands under the spray until it’s too hot for him to bear. It’s strange. All of it. Usually Fionn can compartmentalize it, because the rest of his life is still normal. He’s still got his tiny student flat with Tom, and the relative lack of responsibility that comes with being at uni, still got his family and pals at home, but all the bits that Harry’s touched are glittery and hard to ignore. Falling asleep in Harry’s bed and waking up with Harry spooned up behind him, morning wood pressing against the small of Fionn’s back more often than not. Harry’s head in his lap when he’s going over his own illegible notes and his expensive clothes getting tangled up with Fionn’s worn school jumpers. 

He straightens up and dries off his hands, tries to will down the flush that’s still staining his cheeks. He exhales sharply and tries not to let the frustration well up, but it’s like--they’ve been seeing each other for weeks, even if they haven’t explicitly defined anything. It’s just strange, doesn’t add up in Fionn’s head when Harry pulls back and changes course at the last second every time, jerking Fionn off or fucking leaving the room like he did tonight. 

Fionn lets himself flop down on the bathroom floor. It’s big enough that he can spread his limbs out completely, the undoubtedly expensive tile floor cool even through his clothes. He just wants to know where he stands, and it makes him wish he had more experience with these kinds of things. Maybe then he’d know how to ask. 

“Why?” he asks Harry’s bathroom ceiling, and predictably gets no answer. 

The alcohol’s settled in the pit of his stomach, and laying down flat isn’t doing him any favors, so Fionn heaves himself up carefully and tries to arrange his face into a relatively neutral expression before he slips back out. 

He half wants to leave before saying goodbye, but he knows it’d be rude and wouldn’t do any good in the long run. Harry catches him on the way out, anyway, catching his arm gently and turning Fionn to face him.

“Hey,” he says, eyes roving over Fionn’s face, like he’s looking for something but he’s not sure what. “I’m sorry about earlier, are you all right?”  
Fionn resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he’s fucking all right, he’s just more sexually frustrated than he’s ever been in his life. 

“Fine, just tired, sorry,” Fionn says, and Harry moves in closer, runs one of his big hands up Fionn’s arm and settles it on his shoulder. 

“Are you leaving? You can stay the night if you want,” Harry says, stepping even closer. 

Fionn fights down the shiver that runs through his body when Harry touches him, because it wouldn’t do to get hard again, not here, in front of everyone, and not when there’s a tube ride between him and his bed. 

“Think so,” Fionn says, trying to school his face into something apologetic, “got an early class tomorrow, can’t let you distract me from my studies.”

Harry smiles at him, and it looks a little forced, but he still closes the distance between them to press a kiss to the corner of Fionn’s mouth. Fionn doesn’t let himself move, just closes his eyes and doesn’t open them until Harry steps back.

“Guess I can’t call a car to take you home, either?”

Fionn sways forward to kiss Harry’s cheek, sweet and soft, even though he’s digging his nails into his palm while he does it.

“Think I’ll manage with the tube. I’ll text when I get in, yeah?”

Harry’s shoulders relax a little, but his brow’s still slightly furrowed, like he’s caught on that things are slightly off, he just hasn’t clocked why yet. 

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and Fionn resolutely does not think about the all of the things he wants those hands to do to him. “I hope you had a nice night.”

“Always have a nice night with you,” Fionn says easily, because it’s the truth, even if Harry never seems inclined to take things quite as far as Fionn wants him to. “Had a nice time in your bed even without you in it,” he finishes, and he can feel the blush on his cheeks immediately.

It takes Harry a second to catch on, but then his gaze drops to Fionn’s crotch before his eyelids flutter closed, and Fionn can see him flexing his hands through the fabric of his too-tight jeans. 

“I’ll text you,” Fionn says again when Harry doesn’t respond, and he wonders for a second if he pushed things too far, considering how reticent Harry’s been to fuck him, but he figures at least this way Harry knows where he stands.

He toys for a second with taking a cab back to his and Tom’s flat, but decides on the tube in hopes that it’ll clear his head.

The walk to the station is cold, and it dulls the lingering flush on Fionn’s neck. It’s not how he thought this night would go, exactly. His dick still feels sensitive in his trousers, and it’s a bit fucked, maybe, how Fionn can’t stop thinking about getting himself off in Harry’s bed. He can still feel the edges of irritation and lingering arousal, despite how hard he came.

The ride’s quiet, and it’s late enough that Fionn’s alone, so he lets his guard down, leans back against the window and lets him think about what Harry’s doing now. Probably still smiling and patting people’s shoulders and leaning forward to whisper in their ears to cut the noise of the party. Everyone loves Harry, which is fine, the thing is just that Harry loves everyone. That’s what Fionn gets stuck on, alone on the tube, dick half hard in his trousers and a faint blush of embarrassment on his cheeks.

Maybe that’s why Harry never seems to take it further, Fionn thinks, letting his eyes slip close. He’s got another stop to go, so he can afford to lose himself in his head a little. Maybe Fionn’s just one person in a line of many, though Harry’s never made him feel that way. 

It’s not like he needs a marriage proposal, or that he has a long line of long term relationships in his past, but everything about this thing with Harry has been so steady that it’s lulled Fionn into a sense of security. A bubble where everything’s rose colored and perfect, except for the whole bit where Harry won’t fuck him. 

The problem is that Fionn doesn’t like how alone he feels walking back to his flat. He likes people, maybe not as much as Harry does, but he likes them. He needs the quiet, though. After a while he just likes to sink into himself, and he usually revels in walks home like this. 

Tonight feels like he’s given something up, though. Something he wants more than almost anything, every cell in his body screaming for him to turn around and go back, to beg until Harry finally slams into him, heavy and inescapable, hard enough that Fionn’ll feel it for days after.

He checks his phone once he gets inside. Predictably, Harry’s name is on the screen, but Fionn doesn’t know if he wants to open the message. They’re not fighting, but Fionn doesn’t like the feeling that he’s the one who wants more. As much as he likes sucking Harry off, the way it makes him lose his breath when Harry’s hips twitch forward a little too much, he wants Harry to fuck him, even if Harry seems content to hold off. 

‘Wish you hadn’t left,’ Harry’s first text reads. It doesn’t even come across as hollow, because Fionn’s never known Harry to be anything but sincere. 

‘Can’t believe you got yourself off in my bed,’ the second one says, and Fionn shivers a little at the memory, toeing his shoes off by the door and heading for the shower. 

He’s hard again by the time he’s stripped and got the water running, steam filling the bathroom. His whole body’s on edge, nipples taught and goosebumps covering his skin, his cock bobbing up against his lower stomach. It’s pure relief when Fionn reaches down to touch himself, even though it hasn’t even been more than an hour since he came. He’s slick at the tip already, and it eases the slide, Fionn’s hand trembling. 

He lets the bathroom fill up with steam and thinks about Harry thinking about him. Thinks about Harry laying where he did and getting himself off. Fionn remembers the first time Harry sucked him off, how he couldn’t stop himself from jerking up into Harry’s mouth, how he came so quickly he couldn’t even warn Harry and came across Harry’s cheek when he pulled back too late. 

That’s what does it, really, the memory of Harry blinking up at him, Fionn’s come sliding down his cheek, Harry’s lips red and swollen from stretching around Fionn’s cock.

Fionn comes all over his stomach and the counter, keeps stripping his cock until he’s so oversensitive that he has to pull his hand away. He’s shaking, after, and he still feels like he could probably come again if Harry were here. If Harry would actually fuck him. 

He cleans up himself and the counter before he picks up his phone. The screen’s slick from the steam in the bathroom, Fionn’s fingers slippery against its surface. 

‘Wish you hadn’t left,’ Fionn types out, because it’s the closest he’ll let himself come to begging.

-

Fionn’s busy for the next few days. Like, actually busy, because midterm exams are coming up, and he does occasionally have to study. He’s not avoiding Harry, they’ve texted, and Harry called the other day, but Fionn was in the shower, and it was late by the time he’d finished everything he had to do, so he just. Couldn’t call him back. 

He needs to run lines for his practical essay, and Tom’s out, so Harry is the logical next choice. Fionn texts him before he gets in the shower, waits for Harry’s response before he gets in. It comes almost immediately, which makes Fionn feel a little guilty, because he knows he’s been hard to reach.

‘Happy to share all of my acting tips xx,’ he’s typed out, and Fionn rolls his eyes before getting in the shower. 

He’s on edge, weirdly nervous about seeing Harry after a few days, and even the hot water doesn’t soothe the anxious swirl of his stomach. 

Maybe Harry just needs a push in the right direction. Fionn hates himself for thinking about sex when he has a full plate and then some, more things to do than there are hours in a day, really, but it would be like, a release of tension. 

He fingers himself open before he gets out. Retrieves the lube he keeps stashed under the bathroom sink, along with the vodka Tom finally replaced, and works his fingers inside, tries not to get hard, because maybe this’ll all fall down around his ears. It wouldn’t be the first time Fionn misread a situation, he thinks, wincing slightly as he slips his pants and jeans on, palming himself briefly. 

He does a shot before leaving the bathroom. Just for good measure. A cushion if it all goes to shit and Fionn loses Harry and the little bubble they’ve built for themselves over the past month. 

He can hear Harry knocking at the door before he even leaves the bathroom, and he’s equal parts relieved and surprised that Harry made it over so fast. Relieved because now he doesn’t have to pace around his living room, imagining disaster, and surprised because he knows London traffic, and Harry’s flat’s decidedly not in the same neighborhood as Fionn’s. 

Harry’s got a bottle of wine in his hands when Fionn opens the door, and it makes a bit of the tension bleed out of Fionn’s shoulders. 

“I figured you could use something to take the edge off,” Harry says, stepping forward to press a kiss to Fionn’s cheek, like he’s a proper gentleman.

And he is, really, Fionn can’t deny that at this point, but Fionn’s not, because wine isn’t what he needs to take the edge off. He lets himself lean into Harry’s lips for a second before he steps back to let Harry inside. 

“Thanks,” Fionn says belatedly, “I’ll get some glasses? If you want to head for the couch?”

Harry just grins at him, cheeky and wide, brushing Fionn’s shoulder as he walks past him, and Fionn’s far gone enough that even that touch is enough to make him grit his teeth.

He pauses to collect himself for a minute in the kitchen, palms sweaty with nerves again. He almost drops the first glass that he pulls out of the cabinet, and he has to lean against the counter for a second to steady himself. He feels like an idiot, letting Harry reduce him to a sweaty pile of nerves. Harry who’s in his bed more often than not, this week aside. Harry who kisses him on the cheek and holds his hand and texts Fionn the worst puns he can think of. The odds of this going badly are fairly small, Fionn hopes, but he’s still nervous when he walks out to where Harry’s waiting for him on the couch, hands on his thighs, and Fionn bites down on a groan at how big they are, how much he misses Harry’s fingers inside him.

He tries to smile at Harry when he leans over to set the glasses down on the rickety table Tom brought with him from home, but he thinks it probably comes off as more of a grimace than anything. It must not matter, though, because he’s barely set them down before Harry’s reaching for his hips and pulling him into his lap. Fionn’s off balance for a second, brain trying to catch up to his limbs, but then he settles, spreads his legs as far as he can in his jeans, a knee on either side of Harry’s thighs. 

Harry’s hand is on his jaw, tight and insistent, drawing Fionn in, and he doesn’t even pause before licking into Fionn’s mouth and swallowing up the groan Fionn lets out when he seats himself fully in Harry’s lap. Harry slips his other hand down to Fionn’s ass, rolling his hips up where Fionn’s pressed against his dick, and Fionn feels like his skin might melt off. 

He can feel how hard Harry is, and there’s an urgency to his mouth that Fionn hasn’t experienced before, and he thinks that maybe he hasn’t misread this after all, maybe Harry’s wanted this as much as he has. 

Fionn keeps zoning in and out, floaty one second and hyperaware the next, the flat quiet except for the wet sound of their mouths and their heavy breathing. Fionn rolls his hips forward, pressing himself against Harry and willing their clothes to just evaporate so he can finally, finally have this. 

They don’t evaporate, but Harry moves his hand up, slides it down the back of Fionn’s jeans, and they’ve gone this far before, but the noise Harry makes when he realizes that Fionn’s fingered himself open is almost enough to make Fionn come before Harry’s even in him, long and low and strangled into Fionn’s mouth, and Fionn can feel Harry’s dick twitch against his ass. 

He can’t make himself tear his mouth away from Harry’s, and he can’t decide which he wants more, to rock down against Harry’s dick or up against Harry’s stomach. Harry slips his middle finger inside and Fionn has to pull away for a second, freezes his movement so he doesn’t come in his jeans. 

“‘S this okay,” Harry slurs, mouth searching out Fionn’s. 

The soft kiss he presses to Fionn’s lips is in stark comparison to the insistent curl of his finger inside Fionn, and Fionn pushes back against it, doesn’t want to do anything that’ll make Harry stop.  
“Yes, yes, jesus, come on,” Fionn says against Harry’s mouth, fumbling between them to unzip Harry’s jeans and dislodging Harry’s hand from his jeans in the process. 

Harry isn’t wearing pants. Fionn drops his head to Harry’s shoulder for a second, then wraps his fingers around Harry’s cock, already red and straining. 

“Don’t,” Harry chokes out, putting his hand over Fionn’s. “I’ll come if you do.”

It’s unfairly hot, the how much bigger Harry’s hand is than Fionn’s, and Fionn’s dick jerks just looking down at them, the slick head of Harry’s dick peeking out from the tangle of their fingers.

Fionn groans in relief that maybe, finally, they’re on the same page. He scrambles out of Harry’s lap just long enough to strip off his jeans, doesn’t even bother with his shirt because every second that he’s not touching Harry’s skin is painful. 

Harry’s arching up off the couch, reaching around and digging a condom out of his back pocket, and when Fionn sees it he almost cries, because yes, yes, yes, this is finally going to happen. 

He pauses for a second, just to immortalize the moment in his head. It’s obscene, really, Harry’s cock sticking out of his jeans, impossibly hard and always a bit bigger than Fionn really thinks is fair. Knowing it’s going to be inside him in the next few minutes is enough to make Fionn reach down to fist his own cock.

“Fionn,” Harry groans, tearing at the condom and rolling it down his dick, “c’mon, fuck,” like Fionn’s the one who’s been holding them up all this time. 

Harry’s jeans are rough against the skin of Fionn’s thighs when he climbs back into Harry’s lap, but the way Harry’s cock slides between Fionn’s ass cheeks makes it hard for Fionn to pay attention to anything else. They both stop for a second, breathing against each other’s mouths, too overwhelmed to even kiss properly. It’s so much, even when Harry’s not inside him, just knowing that he’s going to be is more than Fionn can really process.

“Think we’ve waited long enough, yeah?”

Harry huffs out a laugh, one hand gripping Fionn’s hip, holding him in place, the other going for his cock, guiding it so the head snubs up against Fionn’s hole, and Fionn grits his teeth when Harry starts to slip inside. He’s still open from before, but the stretch burns, and he fights against the tears that prick at his eyes. 

It’s--a lot when he’s fully seated on Harry’s dick. Overwhelming fullness, and Fionn’s own cock dripping at the feeling of Harry’s inside him, hot even through the condom. He almost laughs with relief, dropping his head to Harry’s neck. Harry’s hands are tight at his hips, fingers catching on the hem of Fionn’s t-shirt and digging into his skin. He clenches around Harry’s cock experimentally and feels the vibration of Harry’s groan where his forehead’s resting against Harry’s neck. 

Fionn kisses his way up the column of Harry’s throat after a minute, lets his lips drag against Harry’s skin and stops when he gets to Harry’s ear.

“Gonna fuck me, then?”

Harry’s hands tighten on Fionn’s hips but Fionn can’t wait anymore. Harry lets his head fall back against the couch when Fionn lifts himself up, hands gripping the back of the couch on either side of Harry’s head for support before he drops back down slowly, seats himself in Harry’s lap again and leans forward to suck at the corner of Harry’s jaw. 

Harry’s still frozen, but Fionn can’t stop squirming in his lap, shifting down on Harry’s cock, thinking about how many times he’d imagined int since Harry first kissed him in that coffee shop, let alone how many times he’d thought about it in the past few days, wanking himself almost raw. 

It’s better than he thought it’d be, annoyingly enough. Fionn grinds down experimentally, shifting until he finds an angle that lights him up inside and draws a groan from his throat. He can feel Harry’s thighs trembling underneath him, and it’s intoxicating, the idea that he has some degree of power over Harry when Harry’s all but consumed his thoughts for the past month. 

Fionn’s thighs start to burn with exertion when he lifts himself up, and he thinks absently that maybe he should start tagging along with Harry when he goes to the gym, but the thought flies out of his head when Harry rips his hips even tighter and starts to lift him, easing Fionn’s movement. Fionn’s hand flies to his cock, one hand at Harry’s shoulder, digging into the soft fabric of Harry’s button-down. 

He can feel his orgasm building, and he speeds up his hand, moves in tandem with the way Harry’s moving him on his cock, and he comes with a groan and a final twist of his wrist, striping Harry’s expensive shirt.

Harry looks down between them and moans, dick jerking inside Fionn, and Fionn clenches down around him and surges forward to kiss him, undoubtedly smearing come all over his own t-shirt, and that’s what does it for Harry. Fionn can feel him coming. Feels the way his nails dig into Fionn’s skin, his heart racing in his chest where Fionn’s pressed up against him. 

He slumps against Harry and lets his forehead drop against the back of the couch. Harry’s heavy inside him, and Fionn doesn’t want to move. Not yet, in case he doesn’t get to have this again. 

Harry nudges him eventually, lifts Fionn off his cock, Fionn’s thighs still trembling. He winces a little when Harry slips out of him and sets him back down on his thighs. Fionn can feel the remnants of lube, sticky on the backs of his thighs, smearing over Harry’s jeans.

Harry leans forward before Fionn has a chance to let the fear of ruining Harry’s clothes hit him, covers Fionn’s lips with his own and kisses him deeply, tongue warm and wet and strangely comforting. It’s slow, so much slower than it was a few minutes ago, and Fionn lets himself lean into it.

Fionn breaks it only when he’s out of breath, and he doesn’t go far, just rests his forehead against Harry’s and breathes in deep. He looks down between them and winces when he sees the mess.

“That was inc--” Harry starts, breath hot against Fionn’s face, but Fionn can’t stop the horrified surge of his stomach.

“I got come on your shirt, I’m so sorry,” he says, and his brain feels like it’s short circuiting, still hazy with the force of his orgasm and the embarrassment at having come on a shirt that probably cost more than Fionn’s rent. 

Harry laughs, of all things. 

“‘S all right,” he says, “it was hot, actually. Watching you lose control on my cock.”

He’s smirking when Fionn moves back to get a good look at his face. Fionn’s probably blushing, but he can’t quite bring himself to care, not with the way Harry’s thumbs are rubbing gentle circles at his hips.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://polaroidgirlfriend.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
